


naphtha

by noblerot



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: BUT all very consensual, F/M, Light BDSM, Light Masochism, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Touch and human contact as a kink, Trans Male Character, some feelings maybe but truly no plot, the filename is 'higgs gets topped like a pizza' so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21625984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblerot/pseuds/noblerot
Summary: It’s a fascinating little puzzle. Sam doesn’t want to be touched, Fragile doesn’t want to be touched, and Higgs—well, he can’t get enough of it and that all but guarantees they won’t give it to him. Not without a little provocation.
Relationships: Fragile/Higgs Monaghan/Sam Porter Bridges
Comments: 14
Kudos: 127





	naphtha

**Author's Note:**

> ok here's my argument for this  
> 1\. i like both of them with sam equally but it would be nearly impossible to make that work in a serious, plot heavy fic and 2. higgs is clearly always acting out because he wants someone to dom him. why not simply give him what he wants!

The problem, Higgs has come to realize, is that despite it all they’re too damn nice.

Even though he’s spent the better part of the last hour getting ready, even though he’s been uncomfortably hard for most of that time, even though his legs are spread wide and he’s just had three fingers inside him, Sam still has the audacity to look worried about his wellbeing.

His sweet serious brow is creased with concern. “Remember you can tap out if you wanna.”

“Aw, Sammy.” Higgs laughs, despite his position. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Fragile scoffs beside them. She won’t deign to touch him now, but she sure seemed to get a kick out of stripping him down. Fair’s fair, he supposes.

Still, he’s getting impatient with the whole routine. As much as he’d like to sit back and watch Sam touch himself all day, he can’t handle the lack of attention much longer.

It is _good_ , though. By no means is Sam the type of guy to put on a show. He gets off like it’s a necessity, rubbing himself fast and rough. It’s the little things that make him so delicious to watch. The way he sighs rough and low when he curls a finger in up to the knuckle. The way he hesitantly brings his other hand up to palm at his chest even through his undershirt.

Sam still doesn’t care for being touched, but he can permit the places where their bodies brush together. So long as no one puts their hands on him without warning. It’s a fascinating little puzzle. Sam doesn’t want to be touched, Fragile doesn’t want to be touched, and Higgs—well, he can’t get enough of it and that all but guarantees they won’t give it to him. Not without a little provocation.

“What’re you waiting on?” He tries. “Don’t get cold feet on me now.”

“For you to stop talking.” Sam snaps back, though he doesn’t seem too bothered. The provocation worked, though, because he feels Fragile moving into place behind him, the press of her strap-on against him. “Could always gag him.” She says, quiet as she focuses on slowly pushing in. He’s made it easy, though, and sinks down onto the strap. She bottoms out, hips flush against his and he can feel the leather of her clothing on his back.

They all stop, waiting for Higgs to adjust and it pisses him off, he’s not here because it’s comfortable. So he spreads his legs wider and twists back, desperate for some friction and apparently that’s enough of an okay to send them into motion again.

As expected, Fragile doesn’t hold back. She fucks him rough from the start, a pleasant reminder that she won’t break easy. They must make a nice picture because Sam is outright staring as he grinds against his own hand. It’s a sight—for such a shy man he’s generally unconcerned about being seen like this so long as he’s not touched. But god, what Higgs wouldn’t give to reach out and touch. Instead he’s stuck here open and vulnerable, his needs ignored.

He can’t hold still, his skin prickling like it’s on fire. To touch or be touched, it doesn’t matter, he just needs something to happen.

Fragile grabs him by the hip for leverage and he can barely hold back his relief at being touched. The cool leather is a welcome contrast to how damn hot he feels everywhere else. He can feel her breathing heavy from effort and anger.

“You gettin’ tired there, Fragile?” He drawls her name like the insult it is.

She’s quick to react, her hand suddenly gripping his hair and pulling hard, wrenching his head back. It’s a shock, and it feels amazing. “Watch it.”

“Aw, look at you acting all tough.” She pulls him even harder, down onto her, nearly knocking the wind out of him. “Don’t change a thing. You’re all bark and no—” and apparently he shouldn’t have given her the idea, because Fragile presses her face to the juncture of his neck and shoulder and sinks her teeth in hard. He yelps and tries to jerk away, but she’s got him cornered. The pain sends sparks all through him, sharp and electric.

“Hey, ease up.” Sam warns them. He’s soft-hearted—Fragile is too, because she does stop biting him. He misses it almost instantly.

“Don’t worry about him.” Her tone is ice cold and she slows her pace, rolling into him deep but not quick enough for what he really needs. “He likes to push people. You think that makes you better than others, don’t you? But you’re just as easy to push.”

Higgs laughs, rough and breathless. “And yet—ha, here you are, doing all the work for me.”

Sam must’ve had enough of their bickering because he finally comes closer and it’s so much worse, having him within reach but unable to touch. “He ever shut up?”

“Not really, no.” Fragile’s grip on his hips has turned punishing, sure to be a bruise later. It’s good. It’s what he needs.

He’s about to retort when suddenly Sam’s hand is at his jaw, rough and warm. “Might have a way to keep him quiet.”

There’s a brief pause as they adjust, Fragile pushing him down onto his hands and knees so he can bury his face between Sam’s thighs.

“Hold his hands. Don’t want him touching.” Sam says and she does, pins them to the bed with her weight, bent over him. He’s still bigger and stronger, but Fragile is a lot of dense muscle in a tiny frame and she knows how to use it. “Behave.”

Trapped between them, he can only do as he’s bidden. It drives him fucking crazy, not being able to really touch Sam, but this might be even better. Higgs eats him out like a starving man. Licks him slowly just for the pleasure of it, just to taste him and feel him shudder. Sam makes the most delicious noises when he pushes his tongue in deep, almost growling guttural moans. He could get lost in those sounds, in the fact that he’s the one provoking them.

Eventually Sam takes over pulling his hair, directing him further. “Not so mouthy now, huh.” He can hear Fragile laugh at that as she grinds into him, makes him moan and whine even with his mouth occupied. He feels brutally, intensely focused, working his jaw desperately. Every little tremor, every sound makes him harder.

If he could talk he’d be babbling utter filth. In the absence of his words he tries to communicate _please come on my face_ by staring up at Sam, sweaty and wrecked and devastatingly handsome above him. “Ah—” he starts when they make eye contact, “I’m gonna—” He deepens his efforts and is rewarded by Sam’s hand tight in his hair, Sam thrusting against him once, twice—and then he comes with a choked off moan.

Higgs feels every second of it, feels him pulsing and trembling and soaking wet. He doesn’t stop licking until Sam pulls him off.

The air is electric between them for a moment, eyes locked and face to face. Nothing for him to hide behind. “You should see yourself.” Sam murmurs, hand still fisted in his hair.

Fragile hums in agreement behind him. “He looks better like this.” And for lack of a mirror he can imagine it: his hair ruined, his makeup smeared, Sam’s come all over his mouth. Never been too fond of his face but he’d sure like it better like this. He’s going to respond with something clever but they choose that moment to change position, pulling him up and back into her lap and whatever he was going to say comes out as a humiliating whine. “Run out of things to say?”

“Though you wanted me quiet.” Higgs gasps as her hips snap up viciously, again and again.

One of Fragile’s hands wraps around his throat. No pressure but the threat is there, and the feeling of cold leather, and the knowledge that she can feel every sound and every shaky breath he takes. And then he can’t keep quiet anymore even if he wanted to, filth spilling out of him uncontrollably, a litany of _harder yeah that’s it please more please please please fuck me ruin me--_

“You’re so fuckin weird.” Sam says fondly. His knuckles brush over Higgs’ cheek, then down his neck and chest and he’s writhing for it at the slightest touch. He could probably come like this but he doesn’t want to, wants hands on him suddenly more than anything.

Fragile digs her fingers in, just a little. “Should we let him finish?” She says, casually, as if they were discussing the weather. Sam hmms, looks him up and down like he’s a piece of meat, considering.

Fuck you, he wants to say. “Please,” he manages, barely capturing his usual bravado. Maybe this is what he’s been trying to find all along: not someone to make him strong but someone to break him down.

Apparently, that was the magic word. “He asked nice.” Then Sam’s rough hands are on his dick and he’s helpless, shuddering, jerking his hips automatically.

Nothing can compare to the feeling of Sam’s hands finally on him. It’s clumsy and rough and perfect and he knows he’s not going to last long. So he makes the most of it, arching his back and twisting between them. It’s killing him not to touch back. His hands are fisted in the bedsheets, curling and tugging as he whines in frustration.

He can feel Fragile shifting behind him, her other hand dipping under leather and straps to bring herself off. She’s subtle and quiet but he notices the way her legs shake under him, her sudden little sigh against his back.

He opens his mouth, ready to ruin her afterglow but they won’t have it. She presses down on his throat to cut him off just as Sam warns, “Quit that,” and tightens his grip on Higgs’ dick.

It’s too much, the two of them pinning him in place. No matter how he moves he’s entangling himself further. Sam won’t stop fucking looking at him, laid bare and taken apart. His hands are slow and steady, his callouses making the friction too good. Fragile is still and unyielding behind him, the feeling of cold leather everywhere. When he rolls his hips into the touch he just ends up fucking himself deeper.

He’s surrounded, utterly overwhelmed and that’s what makes him come hard, making all kinds of sounds and spilling over Sam’s hand and his own stomach. His eyes roll back and his mouth is probably hanging open but he can’t care, can’t feel anything but bliss at the sheer and total sensation of _contact_.

It turns into overstimulation quick, but that’s its own kind of good. Every little touch is white-hot and consuming. He keens at Sam’s last few strokes, at Fragile pulling out. Whimpers at the feeling of them easing him down onto the bed with surprising gentleness. Sighs at Sam’s hand in his hair, petting him like he’s been a good dog. He rolls onto his side, breathing hard, worn out.

“You good?” Sam asks, a softness in his voice and he realizes abruptly he’s been crying.

Can’t let that go to their heads. “Just the allergies.”

Sam rolls his eyes and starts to get up. Higgs just stretches out in the empty space. His legs are sore. It’s petty to leave them to clean up, but he couldn’t care less.

In his periphery he can see the two of them, heads together, talking about something in low voices. What the hell they’ve got themselves into, probably. Sam nods at him, at both of them. “Gonna wash this off.” He says, and heads for the shower. Fragile sighs and lays back on the bed, busies herself with taking the harness off. She very pointedly doesn’t touch him.

Higgs closes his eyes and drifts. He could mess with her a little, make her regret ever doing this. He’s just too goddamn exhausted.

The high starts to wear off and he’s left there, sticky and oversensitive and cold. He wants to laugh at the absurdity of the whole situation. But then Fragile gets her hands on him again, on his back and in his hair. “Come on,” she says, and pulls him up off the bed.

She guides him over to the little mirror. It flickers to life as they get close and suddenly he can see—

He looks fucking wrecked.

His makeup is ruined, his pupils blown out, his face messy and wet from tears and god knows what else. Bruises adorn his throat, his hips where she’s been grabbing him. His whole body is still shaking from the exertion. Fragile’s hands are stark black like tar against his skin. He looks like a man without pride.

“There,” she says, holding his jaw straight so he’s forced to look in the mirror. “Look at that pretty face.”

Her voice has a hard edge and Higgs is thrilled again to remember he’s the one who made her like that. Made her capable of this.

Then she’s gone, jumped away. And it’s just him and the mirror.


End file.
